


our wings against a midnight sky

by gamerkitty6274



Category: Love Live Perfect Dream Project, Love Live! School Idol Project, Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: AU, Angst, Being Experimented On, F/F, Strem's disaster AU, Violence, disaster au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-27 06:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12576084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerkitty6274/pseuds/gamerkitty6274
Summary: "we aren't so different after all."-kasuayu au. same universe as the ashes we left behind. before maki's arrival.





	our wings against a midnight sky

_how long will it be?_

time is ferocious. ayumu knows all too well. time heals you and breaks you, it repairs one and tears down the other. time is fickle. time changes too quickly, she knows, for one to see its true face. ayumu remembers, she remembers starlight

and stars

and silver

and cold, cold light that broke her eyes. 

      she remembers

                                voices

                                            words that don't make sense

           and her thoughts spill endlessly on the paper. they aren't as neat as she wants them to be. she wants them to be ordered. she wants them to make sense.  _why won't they make sense?_ she blames it on the darkness of her room, the ancient, crinkled paper salvaged from pockets and corners. 

ink

       black and   watery

  drops of wax from candles

she writes where she can, the paper is dotted with stains and weak, watery patches. there is a h o l e , where her pen went too far, and she can't see if she is putting a comma or a full st op.

time wasn't on her side, she was told. ayumu remembers being told well. it seems like one of the only things she remembers. one of the things

     except the girl in the room next to her. she doesn't know her number. numbers don't make sense to ayumu. numbers aren't what you call people, or things. at least she still knows what she is called, although she has forgotten what the word 

for that 

is called. 

\--

the girl next door is angry. ayumu covers her ears and wills for her to shut up; she can hear smashing, thumps, words. a whirl of noise that spills from the other room into hers. 

 _be quiet!_ ayumu shouts, but there is already a hole in the wall where clear glass used to be. it's nighttime and the guards have given up on them. left them to the fates. what did they call them? oh- failed experiments. now it was just tests, injections and run-throughs. she didn't know what the second two meant. it was strange, ayumu thought, that she knew what some words meant and what others didn't. she guessed her words jumbled up over time. 

today's paper is cleaner, she thinks. with       less stains, more room for letters. more room for words, she likes words.

red              trickles onto the paper. round, scarlet splatters that sink into the precious paper and drop onto the cold, rough floor below. it         looks pretty, prettier than the dull gray there is, but it's the smell of it that drives ayumu away. it smells of death. bad things.            that night, where she lost all she had and all she knew. cold, snow. light. screams. words that no longer make sense to her. she can't remember anything before that night, it seems.

the red comes from the girl next door. ayumu is suprised to see her small, bony figure spilling scarlet on ayumu's floor. the girl picks glass from her skin and scowls, tossing them against the wall. they break. 

 _what's your name?_ she asks, quietly. ayumu doesn't know what that is, so she looks confused and hopes for the best. expressions are blurry in candlelight. the girl sighs.

 _i mean number._ oh _._ ayumu knows this.

 _164_. ayumu whispers. _but call me ayumu_.

the girl smiles, an unusually clear sight. it's pretty, ayumu thinks. her red eyes are the same colour as the red spilling from her skin, only brighter. so bright they might shine. much brighter than ayumu's own dull gold. 

 _i'm 173_. the girl whispers back. _but you can call me kasumi._


End file.
